“Not me either.”
“You gonna get them urges again, Noah? The bad thoughts.”
“The bad thoughts come and go. It’s a fight, that’s for sure.”
“I ain’t never got bad thoughts. I killed the mutherfucker cause he deserved it. Don’t seem right you getting to go free and me bein’ here.”
“No, it doesn’t.” He turned to him; his eyes were now open. “I never got to thank you for what you did for me. I have a feeling my time here would’a been a lot worse without you.”
“Every man got a choice in life. And he should be free to make that choice, even in hell. I did what I did cause I think that’s what Jesus would want me to. You want to pay me back, next time you get them urges, you think a Jesus.”
“I’ll try.”
46
Stanton went back to his office around six, just when everybody else had gone home. He sat at his computer awhile, checking emails, and then went through the Jacobs file again. He stared for a long time at the photos; but there was no doubt. It was either the same person that had killed both girls or someone with intimate knowledge of the first killing.
Chin Ho stepped into his office. He stood awkwardly at the door a full ten seconds before saying anything.
“I guess there’s not much I could say.”
“You did your job, Chin. Besides, I don’t hold grudges. They shorten your lifespan.”
He fidgeted with the doorknob a few seconds and then said, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So did you hear about Noah?”
“What about him?”
“He’s out. He’s being transported tonight down here to help with the Jacobs and Dallas murders.”
“Dallas?”
“Oh, yeah. Hold on a sec.” He ran over to his office and then came back and sat down, throwing a copy of a file onto the desk. “Pamela Maren Dallas. The girl in the closet at the Salton Sea.”
“How’d you ID her?”
“Dental records. She’s got some next of kin too, her mother and stepfather. They haven’t been notified yet. Harlow’s assigned the case officially to you and Jessica. Unofficially, Noah’s helping too.”
Stanton leaned back in his chair. “That’s a bad idea.”
“Why? Seemed all, Silence of the Lambs to me. Kind of takes one to catch one.” He saw that Stanton grew uncomfortable and then quickly said, “Harlow only wants him out a few weeks. After that, if there’s no developments, he goes back in the can.”
“Thanks for the file, Chin.”
“No problem. There’s an autopsy report too, but Imperial’s ME hasn’t faxed it over yet.” He rose. “You’re going to get treated like shit from some of the people here, Jon. I don’t know what the hell happened with George and that whole thing, but I just wanted you to know I think what you’re doing, catching this bastard, I think it’s noble.”
As he left Stanton flipped over the file. On the first page was the familiar glossy stare of the dead. There were a few photos of the scene, not nearly as many as there should’ve been, and then one of her laid out on the metal autopsy table. Despite the chalk-white skin and the purple bruising covering her body, her beauty still shined through.
She was twenty-one. There was a note from the autopsy report. The ME had already detected early signs of liver failure from alcohol abuse. Aside from her height, weight and some other statistics, there was no other information. Nothing about her. It was the type of report that would be written for a drug murder where victimology was not a factor. Salton City was not used to this kind of monster.
Pamela still lived with her parents and their home was in Orange County. Without an autopsy report he couldn’t be sure, but based on what he saw, she had been dead at least three or four days. Her parents should have called it in by now.
Stanton called Jessica and gave her the address to the parent’s home. She didn’t even hesitate or complain that it was after hours. She just agreed to meet him there.
Stanton drove in the waning sunlight down the Interstate and wished he would’ve waited another day or two before trading in his car. He thought about going back, but he knew it was already altered and on the market. It wouldn’t be fair to Louis, even if he was a crook.
He saw a sign for Disneyland and pain pulled at his guts and gave him a nervous stomach; he missed his boys. There was no doubt they had heard their father was a fugitive and he wanted to speak to them, to explain what had happened. But he knew that wasn’t possible. Melissa would do everything she could to keep them out of the darker side of his life. To her, the less they knew the better. But Stanton knew that wasn’t the right approach. They had a right to know; altering facts never did any good.
The house was rundown but in a middle class neighborhood. The lawn was torn up from being worked on and some engine parts were strewn over the driveway. A 1968 Mustang sat in the garage and an older man in a t-shirt and jeans was working on getting a dent out of the back bumper. Stanton guessed he was easily in his seventies.
Jessica was already parked down the street and began walking to him as he stepped out of his car. He walked to the driveway and waited for her.
The man saw them and nodded hello.
Stanton reached for his badge and remembered he didn’t have it. Jessica pulled out hers and flashed it quickly before looking away toward the home.
“What can I do you for, officers?”
“Are you Mr. Harold Dallas?” Stanton said, noticing that Jessica wasn’t looking at the man.
“Yes.”
“Do you have a daughter named Pamela? Born on June third of ninety-one?”
The man’s face went flush with anger. “What the hell did she do now?”
“Mr. Dallas, may we come inside and speak with you?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
They walked into the home. It smelled of cooking fat and meat and a television was blaring somewhere. They were led to the living room and sat on an old sofa. Harold continued to stand but leaned against the mantle over the fireplace.
“So, what’d she do?”
Stanton waited for Jessica to say something, but she sat quietly, staring at a magazine on the coffee table.
“Harold, your daughter has passed away. Her body was found near the Salton Sea and she was identified from dental records. I’m so sorry.”
There was no reaction other than clenching of the jaw, the muscles underneath his skin bulging and then relaxing. There was a long silence that seemed to go on forever. Finally Jessica cleared her throat and began to speak.
“She was murdered, Mr. Dallas. Under normal circumstances we would just notify you but these aren’t normal circumstances. We need to find who did this quickly. Your daughter was not the first victim. If you could answer-”
“Stop!” He was shaking and ashen white, but no tears came. He was from a different century, one in which men did not cry even in the most deserving of circumstances. “Just stop for a minute.” He rose up, straightening his back. “I need to tell her mother. Please wait here.”
Harold left the room for what seemed like a short time. He came back and sat in a lazy-boy next to the couch and looked out the window.
“Is she okay?” Jessica asked.
“No. But she will be.” He looked away from the window and down to the floor. “Pamie’s not my daughter. Her real daddy was killed in Iraq. I’m her step-father, but she thought of me more as her grandfather.”
“I don’t know what to say, Mr. Dallas. I wish we didn’t have to be here telling you this.”
“But you are, so let’s get on with it. What do you need to know?”
“Was Pam having any personal problems lately?” Stanton asked.
“Her and her mama’s been fighting a lot lately. Over drugs. We ah … one time we found her overdosed in our bathroom. She was a heroin addict and she called us from rehab. She seemed to be doin’ fine so we brought her home, but that was a mistake. She shot that poison in her neck cause she couldn’t get it in her arms no more. Since then, we been kinda expecting news like this.” He sighed loudly. “Oh Jesus. My poor girl. I raised six children a my own. They all doin’ fine. Could do nothin’ for Pamie though.”